


Are We Good Now?

by jqueen17



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Shot, Phanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 23:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5559311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jqueen17/pseuds/jqueen17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan almost dies under mysterious circumstances, and when Phil panics and tells Dan how he really feels, he doesn’t think he’ll remember it when-or if-he wakes up. But what happens tests the two friends relationships in ways that they didn’t expect, and the darkness in one’s heart fights to win against the love he feels for the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are We Good Now?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if this causes any of you to have major feels towards Phan, but however you feel about it, please let me know! I love feedback, so feel free to make it as long or short as you want-either way, thank you for reading it:)

Are We Good Now?

Phil's POV  
For some reason,I really didn't want to go home on that fateful Tuesday. I wasted time all day, trying to stretch out the hours between 3PM, when my job began, and 1AM, when it ended. I didn't know why, and that might have been the worst part of all.  
Despite my efforts, the hours flew by almost faster than I could count, and before I knew it, I was walking home. It was cold, and seriously dark, as London loved to use old-timey gas lamps that I personally hated. They weren't...lights. They were just shadow-casters, and while a lot of people (mainly tourists) thought they were magical and beautiful, I had always thought they were sinister.  
I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until I began to unlock the apartment door, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief that nothing bad had happened, despite my gut instinct that something bad had happened.  
It didn't help my feeling of impending doom when I climbed the bazillion flights of stairs to our apartment, and I wondered if I was having some sort of existential crisis. I guessed I would have to ask Dan in a second, since I knew he'd almost definitely be awake, messing around on Tumblr in his couch crease. The thought made me smile, and as I opened the door, I was feeling better than I had all day.  
Until I actually opened the door.  
I hadn't exactly expected to see Dan lying on the floor, but it wasn't like it was new. He did this all the time, and while a lot of people might see it as melodramatic, I saw it as what it was. This was just Dan. Dan was weird and sometimes dramatic and a lot of the times depressing, but he was my best friend, and none of those things bothered me. They made Dan Dan.  
I walked over to him, kneeling on the floor. It was my job to cheer him up, to snap him out of whatever sent him into this round of existential crises, so in a very serious voice, I whispered, "Daaaannnn.....you want a bowl of cereal?"  
He didn't respond, and for whatever reason, I decided to shake his shoulder. I didn't really know why I did it-if Dan didn't respond, I usually just went to get him a bowl of cereal anyways and he'd laugh when I walked in singing a song, or something. But he didn't respond when I shook him, either, and I slowly began to panic. Rolling him over, I prepared myself for the worst. But there was nothing different about him-he just looked like he was asleep. I gently shook his shoulder, with no response. Seriously starting to worry, I gently patted his face a few times, trying to wake him up.  
Nothing.  
It took me a moment to realize that his breathing was almost nonexistent, and by the time that had registered I had already dialed the police.

Dan's POV  
I couldn't wake up. No matter how hard I tried, all I could do was listen and feel and smell. I couldn't see, couldn't make myself open my eyes or my mouth and let everyone know I was fine.  
Even though I wasn't.  
It's infuriating, having the answers to everyone's questions and not being able to tell them anything. All I could do was scream silently inside my head, and that made the pain so, so much worse. I wanted to go to sleep, if I wasn't already-but no, sleep wasn't this painful.  
My senses were so muddled that I thought I might have been dying, and I struggled to focus on anything I could. I could hear loud beeps, feel my body getting jostled slightly from side to side, and smell the tangy scent of blood. It took me a few slow moments to realize it was the smell of my blood, and then I slowly began to panic. Everything I did was slow, and that made me question whether I'd been hit in the head or drugged. Or both.  
Maybe I didn't have any answers at all.  
There were only a few things I could focus on, and none of them were particularly pleasant. The beeping was loud and insistent, but that let me know I wasn’t dead. And the smell just made me wish I was. I was scared, there was no denying that, but I needed something to hold on to, a reason to stay awake and fight.  
And then Phil started talking.  
It was distant and high pitched and muddled, but I focused on him, the only ray of light in this black haze that I was currently stuck in.  
Dan, I know you can hear me. You can’t answer, and I don’t know why, but I know you want to. So I’m just going to bloody talk and the doctors and going to bloody keep you alive.  
I hoped he could see my smile. Bloody was the only “bad word” Phil regularly used.  
"Um...okay so I’m going to be really cheesy, and I know it’s probably annoying, but I don’t care."  
It’s not annoying, Phil-it never is.  
"I’ve lived with you for six years, and you’re my best friend, and you can’t die. This is stupid and shouldn’t be happening-you don’t deserve this, Dan, you don’t. You deserve to be happy and full of life and safe. And if-when-you wake up, I hope you remember me saying all of this, and if you don’t, I’ll say it again, because I love you and I won’t let you die."  
The pain in my head was bad, I won’t deny it. And existential crises are horrible, no doubt. But I can easily say that the most pain I had ever felt in my life was not being able to respond to Phil. I strained all of my sense to do something, anything, to let him know that I heard him, and right before I blacked out, I heard Phil shout, "He moved! He’s still hanging on!"  
Of course I am, Phil. I have to. And not for me, either-I’d be happy to let go.  
I do it for you.

Phil's POV  
The next series of hours were a blur of suspense and pain. Louise and Tyler had showed up, and if it wasn’t 3AM on a Tuesday night, we would have been surrounded by fans. But if any of the nurses or doctors knew who we were, they didn’t care-they were all focused on Dan, whispering and coming in and out of the ICU unit of the hospital.  
I paced. I didn’t sit down once, because I simply could not hold still. Not while I knew Dan was being operated on and I was out here, left waiting for who knows how long. I didn’t like blood and gore, but I would have dealt with it all if they would let me be there with him.  
Louise tried to get me to eat something, but I didn’t respond-just walked a lap around the waiting room, trying to focus on anything but the ICU doors. Tyler tried to get me to sit down and take a nap or something, but I shrugged him off. Eventually they quit trying, and the hours ticked by as slow as time had ever passed for me.  
And all the while, all I could think of was Dan dying. It sounds horrible, but I could literally not focus on anything else. If Dan died...what would I do? I tried to imagine my life without him, but it was impossible. Everything reminded me of Dan. Six years of living with someone did that to you, I guess. The word ‘crisis’. The color black. Cereal. Whiskers. Dinosaurs. Llamas. Winnie The Pooh. Delia Smith. Hell, baking in general. Halloween. Sims. Peace signs. YouTube.  
How would I have a YouTube channel without Dan?  
Even though I was the one that convinced Dan to create a channel, we were both different now. We edited each other’s videos, filmed each other’s videos, helped each other come up with ideas, did basically everything involving YouTube together, despite having separate channels. I couldn’t make videos without Dan-the mere thought was ridiculous.  
And that led me to thinking about living by myself, without all the little things that came with having Dan as a flatmate. Not coming home and having to bring him out of an existential crisis. Not waking up at 4AM and seeing him passed out by his laptop on the couch, after doing literally nothing but looking at posts on Tumblr all night. Not listening to K-pop blaring through the walls when I’m trying to sleep. Not hearing him laugh when I did something stu-  
My thoughts were interrupted when the head surgeon came through the ICU’s doors, wearing a grim expression on his face. When I saw his face, I stopped hearing or feeling anything at all. I sat on the floor, staring at a spot on the far wall. Dan was dead. He died. I was alone and Dan wasn’t ever going to smile or laugh or do anything ever again, and it was all my-  
“PHIL! He made it!”  
I focused on Louise’s blurry face, smiling through her tears and shaking my shoulders. My voice was raspy when I spoke, but I did nonetheless, “He’s...alive?”  
She nodded, grinning from ear to ear. Tyler was still talking to the surgeon, and I stood up, walking straight up and interrupting their conversation. It was rude, but I needed answers.  
“What happened to him?”  
The surgeon was still looking defeated and tense,despite allegedly keeping Dan alive.  
“You’ll be able to handle this information, correct?”  
I nodded quickly, but the surgeon looked to Louise for confirmation. I would have been irritated during just about any other situation, but right now, as long as he told me what was going on, I’d deal with it. The surgeon sighed, and gestured for everyone to sit down.  
“Okay, you’ve most likely not heard of a condition called Intracranial Pressure, but basically what it is is a type of brain swelling.” He saw my face and paused, and I made myself look calm, allowing him to continue. “It is serious, and can happen for many reasons. Stroke, altitude changes, injury to the head, or stress. In your friend Daniel’s case, it’s the latter of the four. We’ve determined this pretty easily, since he’s clearly healthy and hasn’t traveled anywhere recently. We did have to perform a serious surgery, in which we had to make a small incision in his skull, in order to drain the excess fluid that was basically suffocating his brain.”  
I thought I was going to be sick, and Louise reached over and grabbed my hand, reassuring me that everything was fine. I was glad they were here-I couldn’t deal with this alone.  
“The surgery went smoothly, and Daniel should be waking up in just a few hours. We have yet to see how he will respond to the surgery, as the side effects can vary depending on the person, but you may go back and sit with him now, if you’d like.”  
We thanked the doctor, and made our way back to the recovery rooms. Part of me didn’t want to see Dan-I would cry, no doubt about it-but a stronger part of me said that I needed to be there for him when he woke up.  
Tyler kept glancing over at me as we walked, and as hard as I tried to ignore the looks, it was impossible. “What?” I eventually snapped, and looking equal parts offended and scared, he blurted, “I'm just waiting for you to break.” I ignored him, even though we both knew it was likely to happen. I’d never been exactly sensitive, but this wasn’t a normal event in any case.  
When we found his room, I let Tyler and Louise go in first, since there were only supposed to be a couple of people in the room at a time. I sat in the hallway for about an hour and a half, while Louise made calls and let everyone know what was going on. I had my eyes closed when they came out, and I guess they thought I was asleep, because they were whispering to each other like they didn’t want to disturb me. Eventually, Louise shook me “awake”, and said I could go in now,if I wanted.  
“We’ll be out in the lobby if you need us, okay?”  
I nodded, grateful for Louise’s support. After they rounded the corner back to the lobby, I hesitated before going into the room. I don’t know why I was so afraid-he was alive, after all. 'Quit being a baby', I told myself, and pushed the door open in a moment of courage.  
The room was eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the sound of my footsteps, machines whirring, and rain hitting the window softly. I walked over to Dan, who had a thick bandage wrapped around his head and looked like he’d gone through hell, and just as I had predicted, I began to cry. Sitting down in the chair next to his bed, I just stared in silence at him for a few moments, frozen. I honestly didn’t know what to do.  
Luckily, I didn’t have to wait for very long, because Dan’s eyebrows furrowed slightly and the heart monitor he was attached to sped up. I didn’t want him to freak out when he realized where he was, because I doubt he remembered getting here.  
I sort of hoped he didn’t.  
“Dan,” I said quietly, and he blinked rapidly for a few moments before his eyes focused on me. We stared at each other for a few moments, and I was about to speak when he mumbled, “Did I get hit by a train?”  
I burst out laughing, whether it was because it was honestly funny or because I was so utterly relieved that he was okay, I had no idea. Dan winced a little, cracking a little half smile. It looked so out of place in this bare hospital room that I sobered up real fast, trying to find something to say. “Um...how do you feel?”  
Dan tried shrugging, but winced almost immediately. “Like I got hit by a train.”  
I nodded, and he studied my face for a minute, searching for something. I tried to hide any sign of fear or any other negative emotion, but he saw right through it. “So it’s that bad, huh?”  
I shook my head. “You’re fine, really. But what actually happened?”  
Biting his lip-and wincing again-Dan sighed. “I don’t really know. One second I was going to turn the TV on, the next I’m laying on the bloody floor.”  
I nodded, looking away as he studied my face again. “So, um, I think I heard the doctor telling Louise that you could go home as soon as tomorrow, which is good.”  
He nodded, but said nothing. The silence was too much, and I had nothing to say, so for whatever reason I decided to reach over and touch his cheek. He closed his eyes, tensing up, and I immediately snatched my hand away. “Sorry! Does it hurt?”  
Dan shook his head. “No. It doesn’t.”  
“Why are you acting so weird?”  
I hadn’t meant to say it, and I clamped my mouth shut as soon as the words left my mouth, hoping against all hope that he hadn’t heard me. But he had, and his eyes glint of steel to them when they opened.  
“I just had a surgery, Phil. I think I’m entitled to act however I want.”  
Looking down, I didn’t respond. He was right, which wasn’t a huge surprise. Dan was more intuitive than most people gave him credit for. I was older and had a college degree, but Dan understood how the world worked. He understood people, the human nature in general, and I understood how to write it all in a way that made people understand. Dan was complicated-I simplified what he was saying, whether I understood it or not. That was just how we worked.  
And right now, I couldn’t simplify his behavior. And it was infuriating.

Dan's POV  
I was an asshole. There was no other way to explain the look I caused Phil to have on his face. It tore me apart, but I couldn’t explain why I just felt like I didn’t deserve Phil’s love. He’d meant it in that ambulance, and he had no idea that I heard or remembered him saying it. But I couldn’t tell him-that would make him feel about a thousand times worse. He just wanted to help-that’s who he was.  
“Phil?” I said quietly, after way too much silence between us.  
“Yeah?”  
I had my eyes closed, and I guessed that made it easier. “If you want to touch my face you can.”  
It sounded like a stupid thing to say, but one of Phil’s greatest philosophies was that touch comforted people. That’s why he constantly hugged everyone, and that was one of the reasons why everyone loved Phil Lester.  
“Won’t it hurt, though?”  
I smiled a little, eyes still closed. “Actually, no. Your hands are really cold and my face feels like it’s on fire right now, so it would actually help.”  
I could sense his hesitation, but eventually he trailed his fingers over my face and even my bandage, which surprisingly didn’t sting as much as I’d expected. I was half asleep when he spoke again, so quietly that I barely heard him.  
“Are you asleep yet?”  
I didn’t respond, and he continued. “I swear I’ll make sure this never happens to you again. You wouldn’t believe me if you were awake, so I’ll just say it since you’re asleep.”  
I remained perfectly still, and I felt his hands brush the hair out of my face. “Even though you’re probably faking, you twat.”  
I was proud of myself for not smirking at that, and after I thought he left the room, I muttered, “You wanted me to hear it.”  
I heard his laugh from outside the door, and fell asleep grinning.

Phil had been right-the doctor sent me home with prescriptions for four different types of medication the next day, and I fell asleep again in the car when Phil went to get them. I woke up when we pulled up next to our building, and he had to help me up the ridiculous amount of stairs to the apartment. I collapsed on the couch when we finally got inside, my head spinning.  
“So how’s about breakfast with a side of painkillers?”  
Phil chuckled, and I heard him pouring cereal from in the kitchen. When he walked in with two bowls and the bag of medication, I actually laughed. “You’re a great nurse, you know that?”  
He grinned and crossed his eyes, almost tripping over the coffee table. “Not so great of a dancer, though.”  
After I took the medicine, I started feeling really drowsy, like I was drunk. Phil kept glancing over and laughing at the expression on my face, and I kept waving a hand in front of me because it looked like there were four.  
“What the fuck did they give me?”  
Phil choked on a bite of his cereal, sputtering milk everywhere.  
“Am I that ridiculous right now?”  
He couldn’t respond for a few seconds, still trying to breathe. “You look like you’ve never seen light before.”  
“Is that a pun on The Urge?”  
Laughing even harder, Phil nodded. I continued trying to focus on one of anything, and eventually gave up because I felt like my head was full of clouds.  
“Hey, Dan?”  
“Hey, did you ever realize that my name sounds really weird?”  
Shaking his head, Phil tried again. “I have a question.”  
“I probably have more than one answer, but go for it, mate.”  
“Did you hear what I said in the ambulance?”  
I knew I should have probably keep my mouth shut, but the reasonable part of my brain wasn’t working right then. “Uh huh.”  
Phil winced a little, but pushed forward. “And, um...how do you feel about it?”  
“I don’t know.”  
I knew I was frustrating him, but my word skills were limited and if I tried to get complicated, I would have an existential crisis and that would suck, so I kept it short.  
“And does that change anything?”  
“No.”  
“Dan!” Phil finally snapped, and I looked at him, making his eyes soften. “Sorry. I probably should just wait until you're coherent.”  
“I’m co-coherent now.”  
My words were slurred, which did nothing to help my case. Phil pursed his lips and shook his head, and now I was getting frustrated.  
“Why should it mean anything?”  
“If you don’t know it doesn’t matter anyway. Just go to bed.”  
I leaned forward until I could see his face, almost falling off the couch. “Are you mad?”  
Phil smiled at me, but even in my condition I could tell he was upset. “No, Dan. Come on-you need sleep.”  
I let him lead me to my room, tripping over nothing but my own feet. I vowed not to take these stupid medications again, or at least not all at once, no matter what the doctor said. I felt like an idiot, and it didn’t help that Phil was so utterly calm.  
Once I’d finally laid down, Phil turned off the light, picking up anything that I might trip over on the floor. “Do you need anything before I go to bed?”  
I was sort of mesmerized by the string lights along the wall, so my answer was slurred and ridiculous. “Can you stay n’ere?”  
Pausing for a moment, he hesitated. “Um, yeah. But why?”  
“‘Cause I’m scared and I dunno why this happened t’me and I don’wanna be alone.”  
That’s all it took to convince him. When he came back with his duvet and pillow, making himself a pallet on the floor, I starting mumbling again, half asleep. “Mm’sorry I’m such a living flop.”  
Phil chuckled, turning out the string lights. “Don’t be sorry, Dan-you did nothing wrong.”

I had such a huge headache in the morning that I was honestly considering that maybe I had been drunk last night. after all. I stumbled into the bathroom, brushing the gross taste of penicillin out of my mouth. When I came into the living room, Phil was reading a book and typing something on his laptop.  
“Do we have coffee.”  
Glancing up, Phil smirked. “Yes, sleeping beauty, we do. Already made.”  
“Thank God.”  
I poured myself some, along with a bowl of cereal, and saw little pieces of it scattered over the counter. I stuck my head around the corner, glaring at Phil until he looked up. Holding his hands up, he got defensive, knowing why I was glaring.  
“I’m sorry! I didn't’ like my kind today.”  
“You’re horrible at hiding evidence.”  
“True.”  
I sat down beside him on the couch, turning the TV on. Phil hated silences, so he started talking.  
“Do you want your medicine?”  
“Fuck no.”  
He looked surprised. “Your head doesn’t hurt?”  
I chewed my cereal for a moment in silence, finally responding. “It does. But I want to talk to you and I can’t do that if I can’t focus.”  
That made him fall silent, and I immediately regretted what I said. I always had to mess things up, no matter what I did. That’s what I did-say the absolute wrong thing at the absolute worst time. I’d probably be a great person if my stupid mouth didn’t mess everything-  
“So you want to talk?”  
Phil’s voice was small, and when I glanced over at him, he was looking down at the spot beside him, his blue eyes flickering.  
“Yeah. I do.”  
He looked up for a split second before looking away again. Taking a deep breath, he started where we left off last night. “So you heard me in the ambulance, and you don’t know how you feel about it, and it doesn’t matter what I said because it doesn’t change anything.”  
I realized just how bad that sounded, and winced. “No. That’s not what I meant.”  
“Then what did you mean, Dan?”  
His voice was bitter, and I closed my eyes, sighing. “I honestly don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, Phil. I almost died and you were scared and it’s over. What more is there to it?”  
“A LOT, Dan!”  
I was shocked that he yelled; I don’t think I’d ever been really yelled at by Phil Lester. I don’t think anyone had. I wanted to say something, but I was speechless. When he didn’t say anything for a few minutes, I decided to take a risk and ask. “Like what?”  
He shot me a look, and I raised my eyebrows. He just shook his head, glaring back at his laptop screen. “Nothing. I was wrong, it really doesn’t matter.”  
I should have let it go, but I didn’t. Instead it was my turn to get mad. ”Oh, no, you’re not pulling this passive-aggressive shit on me. Not right now. It’s too late-I already heard what you said and now I want to know what you meant. So spill it.”  
His eyes were blazing when he looked up, and I knew I’d crossed a line. “Alright, you want to hear it? Fine. You could have died last night. I didn’t see your face at first, and if I hadn’t rolled you over, you would have been dead. I could have gone to bed because I thought you were having an existential crisis and it would have been completely my fault! And you know what? I thought about that at the hospital, when I really did think you would die, and I realized that I can’t live without you because I freaking love you and it’s ridiculous. You’re moody and oblivious and depressing and I love it because it makes it so easy for me to cheer you up and make you smile, and when you smile it makes me think you feel the same way, even though that’s ridiculous and I know you can’t.”  
He was crying at this point, but he didn’t stop. “So yeah, that’s what I meant, Dan. And if that doesn’t change anything then you were right, it doesn’t matter.”  
I didn’t say anything, and my silence was enough to make Phil leave. He stood up, leaving all his stuff, and I heard the door to his room slam down the hall, making me flinch. I got up to go talk to him, but froze in the middle of the room. He didn’t want to hear it. And I had nothing to say. He was right-I couldn’t feel the same way as he did. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what it felt like to feel all those things, and I think that hurt worst of all. It hurt so bad that I lay down on the floor, halfway curled into a ball, realizing that I had done this to Phil. My crazy, colorful, instinctive best friend, that only tried to cheer me up so I wouldn't do something I would regret later on. Who made it his job to make sure I was okay. Who cried when I cried, just because I was crying. Who laid down on the floor with me so I wouldn't be in a dark place all by myself.  
I made myself get up, going into my room and getting a piece of paper. I wrote everything I had just thought to myself down, and more, getting it out while it was there. I didn’t read over it when I was done, and folding it in half, slid it under Phil’s door. And then I sat down in the hall, and fell asleep crying and waiting for my best friend to be my best friend again.  
I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. But I really hoped he would.

Phil's POV  
A part of me really hated Dan. I despised that part of me-I didn't listen to that little voice, the devil on my shoulder, that told me everything I didn't want to hear or believe. Especially when it came to Dan.  
And it usually did.  
He was just frustrating, really. I could pour my heart out-I did pour my heart out-and he'd just...nothing. No words, no facial expression, no reaction whatsoever. And I knew he reacted internally-that’s just how Dan did things. He bottled everything up and eventually exploded, either violently or depressingly or soppily, and I always cleaned the mess up. I always did; but when I broke down, he was impassive, without even a trace of sentiment on his face. And it just got to a point sometimes where I'd give up on him.  
But then there were the times when Dan was sweet and tragic and my best friend, and I lived for that side of him. But that side was hard to see, lately especially, and it shocked me when I came out of my room to see him there and not feel anything at all. He was passed out against the wall opposite my door, head rested against his knees, in one of those cute Dan-is-such-a-fail ways. But I didn't feel the usual pang of regret that I could never tell him that, and that lack of emotion scared me. Was this what it was like to be Dan? To know you should feel something and want to feel something but just...can't?  
I snapped out of it, still upset at him. His cuteness did nothing to make me feel better this time.  
"Dan." I nudged him with my toe, and he snapped awake so fast that I jumped. When his eyes found my face, the alarm drained out of his features and, of all emotions, hope replaced it. I wasn't letting him off this easy this time; we'd had many arguments before now, and I guessed my line had finally been crossed.  
"Get up and go to bed, for Christ’s sake. You like unconventional places for zippers, not naps."  
His eyes were darting around my face so fast that I was getting dizzy looking at them, so I turned around and headed to the kitchen.  
"Phil, what about-"  
I turned around, my anger finally bubbling to the surface. "What about what, Dan? There's nothing else I want to say to you, so just shut up, okay? Nothing you say is going to make this better."  
He opened his mouth to reply, and I hit the wall beside me, shutting him up again. "Don’t, okay? I'm warning you, just do not."  
I turned again, thinking-hoping-that he got the message. But Dan was stubborn, God how he was stubborn, and I heard him following me into the kitchen.  
"But there actually i-"  
His head snapped to the side before I'd registered what I'd thrown, and both of our faces reflected shock as he held a hand to his lip, where a small trickle of blood was just appearing.For once in his life, Dan Howell had nothing to say. He looked at me for maybe a second, almost ran to his room, and locked the door behind him.  
Guilt never had been an emotion I handled well, and it didn't help that I heard him cry for the first time in my life. I'd seen him cry, of course, be it from laughter or silently from a movie. But Dan's pained, vocal cry was heartbreaking in every way. It made me want to hug him and hold him and tell him that everything would be fine.  
And those were the things I could never do now, since I'd finally crossed that line.

Dan's POV  
I didn’t even make it all the way to my bed before I collapsed. I don’t know what I expected from Phil after reading that letter, but it wasn’t so much anger, that was for sure. He was shaking from rage, and I just didn’t know what made him so...mad. I could understand him ignoring me, or crying, or telling me to fuck off, but...throwing things? My face didn’t even hurt that bad-well, I mean, my head did, but not from the little statue Phil had thrown. I was crying because he looked like he hated my guts. And of all the expressions Phil had, hate was the most painful for me to see.  
I didn’t hear anything from the other side of the door, to my surprise. I’d expected him to be apologising, the guilt getting the best of him. But there was only silence, icy silence as cold as his eyes had been. And all the while, I couldn’t stop crying, sobbing, because I didn’t want him to hate me.  
And if he did hate me...what would I do? That lone thought completely absorbed every aspect of my thoughts, and as that dark haze consumed me, I realized that maybe it was for the best. At least I couldn’t feel anything in the darkness of my thoughts.

Phil's POV  
I ignored Dan for a total of three days, before the guilt finally broke me down completely. I hadn’t seen him at all in those three days-I’d assumed he’d been trying to avoid me as well, probably getting food and medicine while I was at work or asleep. I walked down the hall, tapping on his door.  
“Dan?”  
No response. He was probably asleep or had headphones in, so I pushed his door open, and for the second time in a week I found him lying on the floor. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes, and crouched down beside him, tilting his head to the side.  
This time, his breathing was raspy, and he was sweating. I put a hand on his forehead, and almost immediately recoiled from the heat of his skin. Shit shit shit.  
“Dan? Come on, you need to get up.”  
He stirred, and as soon as consciousness came over him, he started thrashing, mumbling things that were halfway understandable.  
“I’m sorry-don’t, it’s okay-”  
I winced, realizing that his speech was slightly messed up because of the slit on his lip. I managed to get him in his bed, and when I tried to pull away, he grabbed my wrist.  
“Don’t leave. I’m sorry.”  
I shook my head, easily pulling away from him. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Just lay there for a minute and be quiet, I’ll be right back.”  
“Promise?”  
That made me crack a little smile. “Yes, Dan, I promise.”  
God, he was so, so easy to love. When he wasn’t sarcastic or hollow or angry he was innocent, delicate, and perfect. I loved Dan for those times, rare as they were, and perhaps I loved them more because they were rare.  
I made a round of the apartment, getting a thermometer, a bottle of cold water, his medicine that he clearly hadn’t touched, and a bowl of soup. I went into my room, looking for anything else that I might need, and saw a piece of paper sticking out from in between the floorboards. Curious, I sat the other things on my dresser, picking it up. I don’t know what I expected it to be, but it wasn’t what I found.

-Phil,  
I’m sorry. I know you’re mad as hell, and probably won’t believe me, but I love you too, okay? I’m a mess and I’m hard to love, and it amazes me that you can be such a great person. That was what was going through my head earlier-the utter wonder of someone actually being able to stand me, let alone love me.  
How do you even do it, anyway? I don’t even like myself. I know I’m sarcastic and ironic and cold and empty and dark and so borderline depressing that it annoys people to no end, so what do you see in me that no one else, even myself, can? The only redeeming qualities I can find about myself are that I’m pretty hilarious and mildly attractive. And hell, compared to you, I’m nothing. You have a soul that shines through your eyes and a smile that can make someone's day and a comforting personality that people would die to have and love to be around. There are better people out there-people like you-who you could choose to love. So...why me?  
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. But here’s something that might surprise you-half of my existential crises are about us. Not how humanity is doomed to fail or how I’m not good at anything and don’t have a purpose in this mess of a world, but us. How, if I ever did man up and tell you all these things, you shouldn’t listen. I don’t deserve you, Phil. You’re bright and colourful and happy and energetic and kind and sweet and loving and understanding and a genuinely good human being with ambitions. I, on the other fucking hand, am a living flop. And I will consider all these things for so long that I break down, and then there you are, making me feel about a thousand times better and wanting nothing in return, which makes me feel a thousand times more in debt to you. You never get anything in return; and yet, you’re always there. Again and again and again until I feel like utter shit because I can’t thank you in any way other than saying thank you, and what’s in those two words, really? You deserve more, and I want to try to give you what you deserve.  
So this letter is the first step in that plan. I want you to know that I can feel the same way as you, and that I do. It’s difficult for me to show it, God, is it difficult, but I swear to you that I will try. I don’t ever want to see that look on your face again, that look of complete and total sadness, because that’s not who you are. That’s who I was, before I met you.  
So I love you. Simple as that. And if it’s the last thing I do, I will prove to you that I do.  
Jesus, I’m a mess.

 

Love,  
Dan-

It was hard to run and cry and balance a bowl of soup all at once, but somehow I managed it. I pretty much dropped everything but the soup the second I got into Dan’s room, and immediately tried to shake him awake.  
“Dan, wake up wake up wake up.”  
He stirred a little, but the look on his face, even while sleeping, was such total pain that I decided to wait to apologize. Right now, he needed to get better more than forgive me.  
It was difficult to make a sleeping person swallow four pills, but I think (subconsciously) that Dan was trying his best to help. One of the medicines woke him up, apparently, because he started fidgeting around a few minutes later. I sat on the edge of his bed, and he sort of jumped when he accidently bumped into me while moving around. His voice was small and ragged when he spoke, and it hurt so much to hear him sound like that while looking at me.  
“What are you doing?”  
He looked so heartbreakingly adorable that I couldn't respond for a moment, just caught up in staring at him. His eyes were bright and feverish, chocolate brown and filled with hurt, looking at my face. His hair was disheveled and his fringe was everywhere, and I had to resist the urge to reach over and fix it. But what I couldn’t quit staring at were his lips. There was a long, ugly gash across the bottom one, and it was swollen and tinged with purple. There were also a few light bruises along his cheekbone as well, where the top of the little giraffe I’d thrown at him had hit. And If that wasn’t bad enough, it dawned on me that he had gotten that giraffe for me on my birthday this year. My eyes filled with tears, and my voice was pain-filled when I finally answered.  
“I made you some soup.”  
He was looking anywhere but at my face, and gave a muttered, “Why?” I couldn’t help but reach out after that, and he froze when my hand touched his cheek. It took me a second to really grasp what I was doing, and I immediately snatched my hand back.  
“Sorry, sorry. And because you’re sick, that’s why.”  
He shrugged, laying back down and rolling over, facing the other way. “Thanks, but I’m fine. You gave me medicine, so I should be good. You can leave me here, I’ll be fine.”  
I wasn’t leaving until he ate something, that was for sure, no matter how he felt right now or what he said to try to make me leave. I told him that, and he sighed, sitting up and reaching for the bowl. We fell into a sort of awkward silence, and all the while I couldn’t focus on anything but his lip.  
“Does it hurt?”  
His eyes flickered to mine for a brief second, before flicking back down to his bowl. “No.”  
“You’re lying.”  
“It doesn’t matter, Phil.”  
I fell silent after that, his voice full of defeat. He looked and sounded like he’d given up on everything, and it scared me. “Dan, are you okay?”  
“I don’t know. Probably not, knowing me.”  
I couldn’t stand that sad tone of voice any longer, so I stood up, walking around and tidying his room, doing anything but looking at him. We hadn’t said anything in awhile when he spoke, ever so quietly. “I’m finished. Can I sleep now, please?”  
I winced at his polite, emotionless tone, walking over and taking the bowl from him. “Um, yeah. But can we talk when you wake up?”  
Again, his eyes only flickered to mine for long enough for me to see the pain in them, and then darted anywhere else. “You don’t have to say anything. It was my fault, no big deal.” He rolled over again, and I knew he wanted me to leave, but I couldn’t let myself do that so easily.  
“No it wasn’t, and yes I do.”  
“I don’t care, Phil. I just want to sleep. Please give me this one thing.”  
I reluctantly gave up for now, getting an idea. “Okay. There’s water on the table, and just yell if you need anything else. I’ll be in my room, okay?”  
I didn’t get a response, but I took all his medication with me, hiding them in my room. Dan was in a dangerous mood that I’d only seen once or twice before, and that mood made me endlessly paranoid and nervous. Like being around a bomb that could explode at any second.  
After putting the bowl in the sink, I went into my room, fishing a notebook out of the closet. If Dan wouldn’t listen to me-just like I hadn’t listened to him-maybe he’d listen to a letter. It had worked on me, and even though anger and depression were two completely different emotions, I hoped it would work on him.

Dan's POV  
I guess the guilt had finally gotten to Phil, because he was acting super supportive and normal again. It didn't affect me, however-I didn’t know what else I could do to show him that I cared. If he didn’t want to hear it, that was fine. There was nothing I could do, so why bother and try?  
My dreams were dark and terrifying, and it was weird to wake up to the happy smell of pancakes after such a negative sleeping experience. I rolled over, and there was a big plate of them on my bedside table, with an envelope next to them. I picked up the envelope, semi-curious despite feeling like absolute crap. I stared for a long time at my name on the envelope, written in Phil’s crazy scrawl, and I didn’t know whether to read the letter or tear it to pieces. I chose to read it, the curiosity getting the best of me.

-Dan,  
I didn’t see your letter until after you got sick. I swear, I never, ever, ever, ever would have thrown something at you if I had. I shouldn’t have snapped and yelled and God forgive me, throw something that meant a lot to both of us at you anyway, had I read the letter or not. I was wrong to do that, and you never did anything to deserve it. I am so, so unbelievably sorry, and you’re right to be mad. I was an idiot and I messed up beyond measurement, but please read the rest of this letter. Please.  
You’re amazing, Dan. You talk about all the bad things about yourself so much that you’ve forgotten that you’re awesome. You’re funny, and smart, and intuitive, and expressive, and genuine. You are real, Dan. You’re not depressing; you see what everyone else refuses to see. Yes, the truth is depressing, but that doesn’t make you depressing. That makes you a realist.  
And I love that about you. You say you don’t deserve me? Well, you’re a damn fool if you believe that. You deserve everything I could give you and more, because you are good. And I love seeing that side of you-that’s why I love you. You can’t see the expression on your face when you laugh, or when you’re surprised, or when you’re happy. The poses you do in the mirror and the faces you make in pictures are not who you are-the smiles that you give that are so rare are. And I love those smiles the most, because you don’t give them out to everyone. You don’t give them out to anyone, because you cherish those moments. I live for your smiles, Dan-I didn’t think brown could be such a beautiful color until I saw your eyes sparkle when you laugh. And I think I already knew that you loved me, because you give me those smiles. When I make pancakes. When I jump when you scare me. When I make a stupid pun. When I’m there after an existential crisis.  
And I’m going to be here after the one you’re having now, because I love you. And I hope that this stupid little letter will make you see that, just like the one you gave me made me see.  
I love you, Dan. I promise.

 

Always,  
Phil-

I can't remember the last time I ran,let alone so fast and with a fever, on some fucked up medication. I hit Phil's door so hard that I face planted when it opened, and I could literally feel his shock when he saw me. Or maybe it was the medicine, I didn't know for sure.  
"Dan? What the hell, are you okay?"  
I nodded, forcing myself to stand. I was wobbling so much that Phil instinctively stood up, grabbing my arm. However, he tensed up the second he touched me, as if asking for permission. I leaned into him in response, his relief clear as day.  
"Can we go in the living room?"  
He nodded, helping me to the couch. I sat for a minute with my eyes closed, breathing deeply. Phil placed a hand on my head, for a few beats longer than necessary, before saying, "Take it easy. Just breathe for a second."  
I did. I felt like I'd run a marathon in the middle of July, but for some reason, I was shivering and sweating and shaking like a leaf, all at once. I felt the couch jostle, and a moment later, a blanket was draped over me.  
And then I started crying.  
'What the actual fuck', I thought, confused beyond belief. This medication was something else.  
Phil looked confused as well, and I just shook my head, his face blurring through the tears.  
"Dan. Are you okay?"  
I could barely speak, and I couldn't imagine how stupid I looked. "No."  
I felt Phil's arms go around me, and I leaned against his chest, sobbing until my throat was raw. He murmured random things the entire time, trying to comfort me, running a hand over my hair and down my back.  
“Shhh...You’re fine...I know it hurts, I know, but you’ll be okay, I promise…”  
I just nodded, holding onto him like a lifeline. My head was pounding and I could barely breathe, but Phil was helping. I could honestly say that I would have died if he weren’t there.  
I don’t know when I fell asleep, but it was a peaceful sleep, unlike every other time I’d slept in the last few months. When I woke up, I didn’t really know where I was, but I knew Phil was there, still gently smoothing my hair down, my hands still clenched in fists with clumps of his shirt in them.  
“Hey sleeping beauty. Feeling better?”  
“You know, you’re going to have to stop calling me that if you ever want me to answer.”  
His laughter made the tears prick in my eyes again, and I sat up, finally ready to talk. But Phil held up a hand, a small smile playing on his lips. “I know, Dan. You don’t have to say anything.”  
I shook my head. “No, I do. I’m sorry. I just, I’m not used to…”  
The tears were back, but not as violent as before, and Phil nodded. “This?”  
I didn’t have to respond, so I didn’t-I was afraid it would start another round of the God-awful crying. So Phil decided to fill the silence, like he always did.  
“Dan, you’re not the one that should be apologizing. You did nothing wrong, and I made this 100% worse for you in the last few days. You’re sick because of me, and I cannot ever live that down.”  
“Phil-” I tried to interrupt, but he had tears in his eyes too, and wasn’t done.  
“And I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m going to ask for it anyways. Now, are you okay?”  
I opened my mouth to reply, but he cut me off before I could answer. “And before you say yes, I want you to know that I talked to the doctor, and the reason you passed out was because you’re so stressed out. Bottling these things up is hurting you, Dan, and you can die if you keep on doing it. So tell me the honest truth-are you okay?”  
I looked at him for a while, considering it. “No, I guess not.”  
He nodded. “So what’s bothering you, right now, then?”  
“I don’t deserve you, Phil. I’m telling you, there are better people for you out there, and I hate seeing you waste your time and energy consoling me when I’m being a complete and utter little bitch all because I can’t get a grip on my stupid emotions and then when I do I’m cold and reserved and there’s just no plus side-”  
Phil had always been good at smooth interruptions, but I wasn’t really expecting him to interrupt me with a kiss. And to add on to that, I wasn’t really expecting to return it, either. I don’t know how much time passed, but when we finally broke apart, Phil was smiling. “I’m not sorry. I had to do that.”  
I smiled, awkwardly blushing for the first time in my life. I wasn’t someone who blushed; I was more the douche that made people blush. “Um, I’m not sorry, either.”  
Phil smiled, but it was tainted with guilt. “Your lip-does it hurt?”  
I didn’t want to tell him yes, but he saw it in my face, reaching out a hand and running a finger over it. He did it a few more times, and I let him, watching his face.  
“I’m so sorry.”  
I smiled, and his hand wavered. “I know, Phil. I forgive you-I know you didn’t mean it.”  
We sat in silence for a moment before I added, “Are we good now?”  
Phil nodded, his face like the sun. And I smiled back, hoping I looked less like a dark storm cloud and more like what he loved about me.  
I hoped I looked happy, because I was.


End file.
